


Truthspeaker

by OptimusNuva



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Arc Word, Conspiracy, Crime Fighting, Episodic Narrative, Gen, Gladiators, M/M, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other, Platonic Life Partners, Post-War, Screenplay/Script Format, Space Opera, Space Stations, Space Texas, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimusNuva/pseuds/OptimusNuva
Summary: Ancient Cybertron. Not long after the last ejection of oppressive Quintessons from the planet, two soldiers with a unique skill must navigate a teetering Cybertron to uncover a mystery - a mystery at the heart of a single word. Crime procedural/war series. Teleplay format, T for violence and war elements. Mostly OCs and reimagined characters. Reviews much appreciated. Enjoy!
Kudos: 1





	1. Pilot

**Pilot - Truthspeaker**

Silence. Black.

Gunfire. Yelling. Growling creatures, echoing.

S.O. (text, typing):

_ "Attention, all Autobot teams. Infiltrator unit Dealer captured by unknown aggressor in Squid Crater. Sharkticons still active, unknown number. Honest optics and quick cogs, 'bots." _

Sounds of Transformation. Dozens. Orders shouted between comrades, muffled. Splashing of an undecided liquid.

QUICK BLINK IN - EST.:

**EXT. DRAINED ENERGON LAKE - UNDERGROUND - DARK**

A large, black cavern. A picture of war.

Everywhere we look, there is an explosion, a group of Autobots or Sharkticons, a discharge of weapons. Even in the air, violence is everywhere as the Cybertronian soldiers unleash their hatred and fighting drive in full force on the remnants of their once-slavers.

FOCUS IN:

A five-man Autobot Quadrus runs forward. White plasma bolts  _ zheww _ by in all directions. A closer examination shows all five wear matching colors: red and blue with silver faceplate grilles. Their leader - OPTRONIX MINOR - waves towards a high-walled obsidian rock formation. Four dive behind the boulder, Optronix bringing up the rear.

That is, until...

The rock explodes in white smoke and orange sparks, throwing Optronix a good twenty metrons backwards. The explosion cuts out all sound, leaving the Quadrus Minor temporarily deaf and without a unit. Their charred parts fly some six metrons beyond where he himself lays.

And without a unit, he pulls his rifle back to his shoulder, and runs off into the war on his own.

He Transforms, revealing his ALT. MODE: a red hovertank, with his rifle forming one main cannon as the other - back kibble - spins into place beside it. He rushes forward, firing both cannons into the enemy we still cannot see.

CUT TO:

SHARKTICONS: faded-grey monsters, some in Beast Mode, others Robot Mode, some trapped between the two. Each one holds a spiked club, a broken spear, a pistol or a grenade. All growl primally at the Cybertronians passing them.

Optronix does not think, except that this enemy will take him, too. The hovertank charges towards them, firing madly. Some go down. Most shrug off the white-hot bolts, turns their attentions toward he and he alone. Some Transform, jaws snapping up out of their torsos, limbs twisting like turrets on a gunship. The now-Beast-Moded droids stomp their way towards the tank, blocky tongues rolling between corroded lips.

ENTER:

WING SABER. A white-gold fighter jet orbits a drooping Energon-indigo stalactite, blasting a winged creature bearing some inbred resemblance to the monsters on the ground. After two or three holes torn through its wings, it drops, screaming. Wing Saber follows it down, discovers Optronix surrounded on all sides. Plasma bolts whiz past him, too - some of it is friendly fire. Without another thought he breaks away from the Pterocon and begins firing on the new targets.

On the ground, Optronix barely has time to Transform before he sees the flyer himself Transform, dropping precisely so that they are now back-to-back. He pulls the second cannon from his back kibble.

OPTRONIX

_ What are you doing here? _

WING SABER

_ Whatever I can to - ! _

Almost comedically, the Seeker ducks under a Sharkticon throwing axe, then fires off two quick shots with his own pistols before assuming a natural rhythm.

WING SABER

_...Help. _

OPTRONIX

_ Well, that's better than nothing. Where's your squadron? _

WING SABER

_ Elsewhere. _

Optronix says nothing else. The possibilities are obvious.

WING SABER

(Cont'd)

_ Either way, I found a whole pocket of hexacombs in the rock face just in that ridge. Can't reach it alone. _

OPTRONIX

_ Roger that, Seeker. _

FOCUS ON (SLOW-MOTION):

It is in that moment that the two Autobots - Cybertronian soldiers - make physical contact. Their back apparatuses touch. A little blue ember strikes between them. A bell has been rung, and both Autobots react out of unknown reflex.

Before either has time to react, both are Transforming. But it's not a regular Alt. Mode for either of them - instead, they Transform  _ into each other _ , limbs melding and folding, forging a grand cacophonous tangle of free limbs and folding parts. And when those several seconds are done, it leaves the two as one:

It's a POWERLINK: Two beings melded into an amalgam Transformer with blue-red-gold armor. An altered version of Optronix's head pops up, eyes glowing yellow. They have wings. Boots. Engines on Their back. They wield Optronix's guns, mounted to Their arms. The Powerlink - a DUON - looks at its own hands, optics widened, momentarily oblivious to the war around them.

They disengage. Both fall to the ground awkwardly, shocked. Laser fire passes over them, then stops as the shooters assume they have hit their targets.

OPTRONIX

_ What the  _ **_slag_ ** _ was that? _

WING SABER

_ Well, what do you know? What are the chances? _

OPTRONIX

_ One in a million. _

(Deliberating, weighing this knowledge):

_ We go together. Optronix Minor. _

WING SABER

_ Wing Saber, Seeker. Nice to meet ya, Minor. _

He nods to Optronix as he says this. Jokingly, he bumps Optronix's fist, activating the Powerlink reflex once again. The blue light formed between them casts a short aura around the Duon.

OPTRONIX AND WING SABER

(Internally)

_ DUON: We are One. _

Neither questions it now, and the Duon itself says no more, simply becomes airborne. He fires off several shots into a crowd of Sharkticons, then turns, finding himself becoming the new prey for a duo of Pterocons. His optics narrow into slits, quickly forming a plan.

DUON

(Into comm)

_ Dispatcher, this is Duon Optronix/Wing Saber. Exploring hexacomb formation in Parsos 7. _

DISPATCHER

(Over comm)

_ Understood. These kinds of things happen. Distributing new orders, happy hunting. _

With that, the line cuts out. The Duon continues flying, outmaneuvering Pterocons by weaving between stalactite. As the winged creatures collide with them, both shatter as if made of old glass. Crystallized and melting Energon rains onto the ground, each shard having the force of a harpoon behind it. They rain down on Autobot and Sharkticon alike; some members on both sides pull out solid and energy shields, crouching as Energon clanks and bounces. Off of them.

The narrow canyon stretches before the Duon, growing closer and closer until it seems the  **only was through is to - !**

WIDE:

The mouth of the canyon is much,  **much** more spacious than we first assume it to be, and the airborne Duon slip through it with ease. (Hold several moments on the canyon after they enter.)

FRONT ANGLE SHOT:

He continues flying, dead-center between the two flat obsidian walls, streaks and drips of Energon illuminating his way. The Wing Saber in him knows exactly where to go... At least, to some degree. The Duon's head turrets around, searching for the distinguishing marks which had pointed it out to the Seeker in the first place.

FOCUS ON:

As he whizzes by, the Duon spots the abnormal crater in the black rock face, overshoots it drastically, hovers backwards to discover that it is indeed there. His jets go quiet, gently guiding him down to what appears to be a whittled-out stone balcony. Just inside is an entryway to some kind of tunnel, Void-black, impenetrable.

Several barrels slowly catch dripping Energon. In this moment of rest, the Duon look up, seeing the several fanglike stalactites above them. These are not the normal blue-purple; these are a more fiery ember color. Yellow eyes narrow, puzzling on this.

DUON

_ Disengage. _

And both do so, as if climbing out the same cockpit. Both share an optical message, confirmed by a quick hand gesture: Optronix takes the lead. He taps his helmet, activating lights all over his body. Wing Saber does the same, and follows close behind his new partner.

WING SABER

(Into comm)

_ Dispatcher, have arrived at Parsos 7. Entering cave now, rendezvous soon. _

DISPATCHER

(Over comm)

_ Copied. Proceed with caution. _

Signal cuts out.

At first, it seems like a normal cave, altered to appear even darker. We see only their guidelights, nothing more of the two Autobots... or anything else.

And as they go farther in, it's abundantly clear this is not a normal rock formation. Gradually, the two fleets of lights solidify into Autobot silhouettes again. The rock walls are reinforced with some silver beams, gradually widening out and illuminating itself until they arrive at - !

**INT. LABORATORY - WELL-LIT - CONT**

A small lab-style room, hardly meant to accommodate more than two or three people comfortably. Dangling from the ceiling are a trio of powerful light fixtures, bordering on harsh, hanging loosely on long cables. A work table on the right, apparently cleared out - and battled on - in a hurry. On the left:

A silver vault-style door. There appears to be no lock on it, only a handle, smashed to bits and blasted at least once. Is it ajar?

Optronix tests that first. He approaches, reaching out his left hand to pull on what's left of the thing. It comes easily. Meanwhile, Wing Saber tries to reach Dispatcher one more time.

WING SABER

(Into hissing comm)

_ Wing Saber to Autobot Dispatch. _

Loose static. He hits his comm button one more time, same result.

WING SABER

_ No response. _

OPTRONIX

_ At least the door's not locked. We go in on my mark. _

He counts down, right pistol raised.

OPTRONIX

(Phonetically, a military habit)

_ Fife, foar, tree... _

He raises his pistol, pauses a moment.

OPTRONIX

(Cont'd)

_ TOO WUN! _

He pulls the heavy steel door open with ease, half-charges on impulse as if wanting as much violence as possible.

But there is none, only an old-looking metal cage, bars anchored to the floor and somewhere in the ceiling, stretching from wall to wall. In that cage:

OPTRONIX

_ It's Dealer. _

He drops his pistol a bit, but leaves it ready to shoot. He walks further up to the bars, allowing Wing Saber to follow in behind him.

Dealer doesn't look good: light blue armor is now rusty, in some places smashed in, in others bent flat. His optics are dim. Kibble indicating an Alt. Mode has been reduced to broken-off nubs all over his body. He looks delirious, unaware of their presence, sat up against the back wall like a corpse. Something in the room hums with an unknown power - something intimidating.

FAVOR ON:

We see the AUTOBOT INSIGNIAS of both Autobots, cutting first from the brand on one's arm, then to his companion's. Another cut shows that, in the same place, Dealer has  _ nothing _ , only a faint painted-on emblem on a square of mismatched armor plating.

DEALER

(Hoarse)

_ Oh, good, someone's arrived! Don't touch the bars. _

OPTRONIX

_ We're Autobots, there are more waiting for us. Any idea how this cage opens? _

The prisoner points to a little box just outside the cage. Both Autobot soldiers follow him, lock optics with it.

DEALER

_ That's a variable voltage generator. Hence, nay touching the bars. _

WING SABER

_ We'll figure something out. Double-val - that needs an abundant power source, yes? _

DEALER

_ Yeah. Cable's concealed, though. _

Both Wing Saber and Optronix are already searching for it, though. And suddenly Optronix gazes at Dealer's bars - not him, but the bars holding him.

OPTRONIX

_ In the bars. _

WING SABER

_ Well, that's one way to do it. _

Without warning, Wing Saber pulls out his pistol and SHOOTS one of the bars. The sudden report of the weapon sends both other Cybertronians to the floor. Dealer squeals.

Pause a moment. The Seeker decides to shoot again. Silence from them this time.

But the bar is smoking. Sparks fly from exposed wiring. Casually, Wing Saber gives a good kick, finishing what his weapon started. It breaks in two, clanging on the floor. Both Optronix and Dealer look up to see that the Seeker's impulse has paid off.

WING SABER

_ See? Too easy. _

Optronix, robotic though he - and the whole Cybertronian race - is, clearly wears an expression of disbelief... and suspicion.

OPTRONIX

(To himself)

_ Yes, it is. _

Wing Saber points to his new partner with his pistol: "Help me with the rest of these bars."

WING SABER

_ You'll want to stand back. _

Dealer gets up, shuffles back to his space on the wall, presses himself firm as he can as the two Autobots shoot at the bars, kicking them down after a good shot or two.

Both step over the remains of the brittle bars to where Dealer remains against the wall. They sling him upward, begin carrying him together back through the tunnel where they’d entered.

OPTRONIX

_ Is there anything you can tell us about your captors? And this lab? _

The spy shakes his head.

DEALER

_ No, not at all. But... they were big. They were scary. _

He says nothing else. As is the Cybertronian way, they respect his silence.

**EXT. UNDERGROUND CANYON - MODERATE TO DARK**

The three Cybertronians emerge on the makeshift landing pad. Examining the drop below them, the distance across this divide, the height above them - the canyon stretches to the cave ceiling - the Seeker and Major shoot a look to each other.

WING SABER

_ Can you handle it? _

OPTRONIX

_ Can you? _

They both turn back to face Dealer, and gently as they can, they lower him to the ground. Then they perform their little one-in-a-two-thousand-and-ninety-sixth trick, this time with even greater ease. They don’t even touch when both begin Transforming, melding with each other. Dealer looks on, more than slightly dumbfounded, optics wide and mouth ajar.

The Duon drops to the ground in front of him, large arms opening. The figure stoops.

DUON

_ Up we go. _

The Duon lifts Dealer in his arms, then activates his jets. He lifts off from the rock platform, first moving forward and downward, and then  **up, up, up!** (Out of frame)

HOLD ON:

Also, please take note of the Energon drippings around the entry of the cave: a regular purple. And it’s far sparser than it was before, as well.

CUT TO:

He’s carrying Dealer across the sky, weaving in between stalactites bigger than himself, thrusters burning and leaving a foggy cloud of vaporized air and Energon.

**EXT. AUTOBOT MOBILE COMMAND TENT - SQUID CRATER - CONT.**

Dispatcher - truly, that is his name - sits at his console, dozens of patch cables plugged directly between himself and the block of machinery, dictating into a headset and keying information into another computer. SGT. KUP leans over Dispatcher’s shoulder, watching the monitor display.

KUP

_ Any wo - _

He can’t finish. Dispatcher cuts him off.

DISPATCHER

(Into comm)

_ Duon of Seeker Wing Saber and Optronix Minor, bringing Dealer back into custody. ETA: six microcycles, clock active. _

(After switching channels)

_ Dispatcher to Duon: We’re expecting you. _

KUP

_ You heard the ‘bot. Get an armed escort out there, we’re on the clock! _

CUT TO; TRACKING:

Uniform red-striped Autobot sentries run out from under the tent, pulling heavy rifles off the wall. We follow a small formation of them pushing through the cloth doorway, shouting incomprehensible orders to one another. They form a little wall around the building-sized tent, which displays a ‘bot-sized AUTOBOT INSIGNIA.

A Sharkticon wanders up, one side of its torso just  _ gone _ . Two of the sentries raise rifles, put it out of its misery. It drops dead on the rocks.

AUTOBOT SCOUT

_ Contact! Confirmed: Airborne Duon and Dealer. _

And it's true: the airborne Autobot Duon carries the blue Dealer. And he's followed by several Pterocons he can't shoot down.

AUTOBOT CAPTAIN

_ Cover fire! _

He and several others oblige, blasting at the airborne Pterocons. None of the shots do anything more than nick some armor plating or veer them slightly off-course.

THROUGH TELEMETRY:

The Duon isn't safe in the air. Judging by the fire on him and the top priority in his arms, keeping him up there does no one any good. Those ugly Cons in the air are sure stupid, but they're still programmed killing machines. The Pteros are now surrounding them.

AUTOBOT CAPTAIN

_ Clear the landing. And concentrate fire, Makers damn it! _

Shift focus to the Duon's perspective:

The Autobot command tent is below them. Just as many Sharkticons on the ground as Pterocons in the air, at least.

DUON

(Dryly)

_ Oh, no! Time to do something stupid. _

And he does. With Dealer in a bundle in his arms, he drops his altitude, scraping through hungry Sharkticons too quickly for them to catch up.

DEALER

_ W- what does tha - ! _

(Screaming, weak)

The two components disengage: Wing Saber goes up, Optronix goes down. With perhaps less finesse than should have been granted, the Autobot catches the once-prisoner.

They're not far from the tent, it's just a matter of going through a whole riot of riled-up machines.

Wing Saber remains a force from above, sacrificing power for numbers and versatility as his new partner on the ground  **drops their quarry and begins charging straight into the Sharkticons.**

That leaves Dealer huddled on the ground, protected between them but immobile.

CUT BACK TO:

KUP

_ I don't care what you have to do, WE NEED A SHUTTLE DOWN THERE NOW! _

DISPATCHER

_ Can't do it. Not in time, at least. Or are we pretending time isn't important? _

KUP

(Recognizing his outburst)

_ Sorry, lad, it's just... - _

Dispatcher does not let him finish. He begins talking into his headset again.

DISPATCHER

_ Confirmed. The Duon are breaking through. _

CUT TO:

They're not a Duon, but they are regardless breaking through. It seems this Squidtouched boil in Cybertron's face has exhausted its supply of pus. The Sharkticons we see are all that is left. The sentries pick the last of them off one by one.

Good, thing too: both Autobots look exhausted. Even the Sentries, under orders not to abandon their posts, look anxious just to get this job over with now.

OPTRONIX

_ Almost there. _

There aren't many Sharkticons left. All dead, including Pterocons writhing on the ground with their wings clipped.

AUTOBOT CAPTAIN

_ Mobilize, mobilize! _

The Sentries disperse almost like a true military unit, fanning out, Transforming as they walk. Most of them Transform into turret walkers: tanks with legs. With a lethargy - or else, relaxation - not seen before, they brush past the Sharkticons, shooting them dead as they pass. They climb over the corpses of the Squiddies' playthings and a few of their own comrades, trying to reach the place where their own 'bots are waiting, huddled on the ground around...

A Scout first picks up his walking speed, then is jogging - and then running. Without Transforming himself, he reaches them. He doesn't like what he finds.

Both the Minor and the Seeker are crouched over the objective's corpse. It appears that his head has exploded from the inside out, taking most of his upper torso with him. Exposed wire, servomotors, loose cogs are all spilled out around them, even coating their faces and bodies with the lifeblood of the very-much-dead Dealer. Optronix and Wing Saber look up at the scout.

WING SABER

_ Some kind of explosive implant. _

AUTOBOT SCOUT

_ Any last words? _

OPTRONIX

_ One. _

Both share a look. Like all Autobots, their eyes are blue. But as they turn their heads back to the Autobot scout, they aren't blue.

They're yellow - of a Duon.

DUON

_ Truthspeaker. _


	2. Liquidation, chI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Duon are dispatched to an old friend's home seeking knowledge of a growing breakaway faction. Things go bad VERY quickly.

**Liquidation, Ch I - Truthspeaker**

Silence.

DISPATCHER (V.O)

(Over comms, with static)

_ Calling Autobot Duon Gamma Major - Optronix, Wing Saber - Dispatcher, calling Duon Gamma Major. Report immediately to Node Plutosis for new assignment, acting Marshal Kilotron will greet, further instructions upon arrival... _

JUMP IN:

**INT. NODE PLUTOSIS - SPARSE INDOOR CITY - MODERATE LIGHT (OVERCYCLE)**

An AUTOBOT DROPPER descends onto a wide urban street. From this modest shuttle emerge two Autobots:

Wing Saber emerges first. He retains the white-gold colors and Autobot-blue eyes, but he's gained some new splashes: blue bands on his arms, red stripes on his shoulders. The insignia on his arm is now a new shape, with the letter Gamma - Γ - overlaid on it.

Optronix has his partner's stripes as well, and the Gamma on his Major's insignia. But in addition, he has a different set of antennæ in his helmet, and has probably made modifications to his Alt. Mode.

The Dropper begins taking off behind them, roaring, kicking up brown and purple dust. Wing Saber turns backwards, waves to the departing ship.

OPTRONIX

_ They can't see you, you know. _

WING SABER

_ Oh, I know. But sometimes belief alone makes things true. _

Optronix does not ask further.

ENTER:

MARSHAL KILOTRON - A tall brown-and-black figure in a red visor, carrying a lawman's phase cannon on one arm. He walks past a few of the Nodehuts, greets them in the middle of a generally empty street. He salutes his friend Optronix, who salutes him in return.

KILOTRON

_ Promotion, I see. _

OPTRONIX

(Gesturing between the two)

_ Indeed. Marshal Kilotron, Wing Saber Major, and vice versa. _

The Autobot and Marshal regard each other with friendly nods. Almost as one, the three Transformers begin walking down the street.

OPTRONIX

_ So what have we got? _

KILOTRON

(Sighing)

_ Keeping a whole Node together is tricky. Especially since we now have a breakaway faction. _

They pass increasingly larger buildings, the Marshal pointing them out to the Duon as they pass. Various Cybertronian "civilians" in a variety of armor colors. They wave to each other, nod politely. Little else.

OPTRONIX

_ Any suspects? _

KILOTRON

(Pointing in every direction)

_ Them.  _ (Points another way)  _ Them. That 'bot loitering under the awning. All of them. _

WING SABER

_ Declaration of war? _

KILOTRON

_ Soon, maybe. But we can't isolate them because... Well, they're all masked when they meet. Some of my contacts say they're reconvening tonight. _

Optronix isn't fazed by hearing this, but the Seeker seems mildly surprised.

WING SABER

_ Underground _ _ contacts? A Marshal? _

It's been a while since the Marshal has been questioned so directly by anyone. The barrel in his chest rotates amusedly. He says nothing.

They pass a large Coliseum. Kilotron points it out.

KILOTRON

_ See that? That's where it is? _

LONG SHOT:

We see the trio of Autobots from behind, walking away casually, not quite in step.

OPTRONIX

_ Any plan? _

They pass a few assorted Plutosians as they walk away from us, but they do not regard each other, save one shouting greeting to the Marshal in passing.

KILOTRON

(Chuckling, knowing they won't love it)

_ Yes. _

RAPID CROSSFADE:

**EXT. OUTSIDE PLUTOSIS COLISEUM - EVENING LIGHT (UNDERCYCLE)**

Dozens, hundreds of Plutosians, all crowding into the doorway - large and welcoming, yes, but a tight squeeze nonetheless.

We follow one cluster in the crowd, pushing and jostling for the best seats in the house. Engine kibbles rev, wings flap, 'bots laugh. As they pass, we see all are MASKED - decorative masks, homemade masks, combat masks, any and all, but covering every face. And the place is so densely populated that the rest of the body is well and truly secured. Not that these comrades care much, anyway.

As we follow the group through the crowd, we recognize some poorly-hidden Autobots, at least their bodies. They wear the faces of the old heroes: five of the Seven Convoys. There might be some others tagging along.

OPTRONIX

(Shouting to be heard)

_ I don't like this. We're too visible. _

KILOTRON

_ Look around you. You see the masks, but what else? _

OPTRONIX

(Slowly, dictating his observations)

_ It's... They're friendly. There's trust. Rapport. Respect? _

KILOTRON

_ Among themselves. And therefore, in sharing of the mask, among us. _

We see the group slowly carve out their own corner in the back of one set of bleachers. It includes the Duon Gamma, Kilotron, and one or two others.

WING SABER

(Humorously, still shouting)

_ Your guys? _

They raise their hands. The Seeker turns around to see them: "Yes, we are very much still right here."

KILOTRON

_ Oh, yes! Duon Gamma, meet my unofficial deputies: STREETWISE and BRUNT. _

They wave upraised arms at the mention of their names.

KILOTRON

_ Deputies, Duon Gamma Major. _

WING SABER

_ How d'ya do? _

STREETWISE

(Tarnian accent, glumly)

_ Jolly like the Face o' Folly. _

BRUNT

(Low Iaconian)

_ Word is, mech in charge's making a personal appearance. _

RANDOM PLUTOSIAN

_ Oh, aya! _

WIDE ANGLE:

We get our first real view of the Coliseum: several sections of Praxian-style bleachers - decently packed, but not cramped - surround a circular podium the size of the Dropper that brought the Duon here. Overhead fixtures some twenty or thirty metrons above them all point down, washing the stage in yellow-brown light. The apparatus holding them together is a Turborantul's Attic of cables  easily capable of fitting a couple very large Cybertronians.

The incredible din subsides. Silence becomes the spirit flowing through them all.

RANDOM PLUTOSIAN

_ Oh, here we go, here we go! _

KILOTRON

(whispering)

_ Exits in sight? _

WING SABER

_ North, East, South. Any others? _

STREETWISE

_ Missed the one by Big Ugly - Squid of Rage face. _

WING SABER

_ Oh, I see -  _

OPTRONIX

(Shushing)

_ It's starting. _

And indeed it is.

FLASH. BANG.

A rain of red lasers drops from the ceiling through a thick grey fog. One by one, the lasers dissipate, leaving two: eyes. The theatrical fog clears, revealing the silhouette piece by piece.

MEGAZARAK.

A black-and-silver giant, streaks of violent-red and blue. Gigantic pincers jut from his shoulders. A back turret hangs like a sword scabbard under one arm. He wears no artificial mask, but his helmet is hidden by an almost knight-like faceplate to make Optronix envious.

He wastes no time in laying out his intentions. And beyond the entrance, he indulges in no grand theatrics.

MEGAZARAK

(Booming, still reserved)

_ My friends, I must welcome you all to this... convocation. Apologies must be proclaimed for the usage of masks but sadly, we do not know who to trust, and who will hurt us through our identities. _

In concurrence with this last line, the giant puts his fingers to his helmet, gently pressing buttons with remove his faceplate in one piece. Underneath the mask is just a normal face, save the LONG SCARS - one from his lip to his eye, the other a simple streak along his silvery cheek. He holds the disposable faceplate up for all to see.

MEGAZARAK

_ In the days of the Squids, faces were all they used, all they cared about. A scar rarely happens the same way twice. But now they are gone. Take off your faces, my Brothers of the Spark! _

Each and every face in the crowd obliges, casually pulling masks off and awaiting their leader's next soliloquy with entranced unease.

The scar gives Optronix an idea.

OPTRONIX

_ Any of you seen those patterns before? _

STREETWISE

_ Nay, maybe with a name we'll -  _

MEGAZARAK

_ Now, I will not hesitate to jump to our truest problem: The war against our oppressors is over, but without them to unite us we have fallen beneath them. No real government, no universal law, except what THE AUTOBOT PARAMILITARY HAS OFFERED OF ITSELF! _

Both Gamma Majors flinch, cringing slightly. Jeers from the whole crowd, invoking exactly what he expects of them. Recognizing the need right now to blend in, they join the yells during the giant's moment of silence. They don't really shout much of anything outside some Squid-esque gibberish.

MEGAZARAK

_ Now, let me tell you what we propose. _

He lets the crowd sit a while. Optronix has let his discomfort pass. Wing Saber, though...

MEGAZARAK

_ I,  _ _ Megazarak _ _ , propose we  _ **_throw the Autobots out of Iacon, take it back into the common mech's control!_ **

The Seeker does something impulsive.

WING SABER

_ You think you can take charge? _

All heads turn towards him. Even  _ he _ hadn't meant to be so loud. Megazarak's shoulder pincers point accusingly towards him, then relax, turning upward again. He welcomes a bit of conflict, right? The others closer to him - including the Marshal, Streetwise and Brunt - are less pragmatic. Optronix whispers a warning we cannot hear.

WING SABER

_ Iacon was made up of common mechs. Still is. Seems a bit hypocritical, right? _

More jeers from the whole crowd. His optics drift to Optronix, who flashes a tentative shrug to him before joining in.

MEGAZARAK

**_Silence!_ ** _ Let him have his opinions. Besides, if we cannot learn anything new we might as well  _ **_leave them in power_ ** _. Are you willing to tell us your name? _

The Seeker really didn't expect that. A Random Plutosian - a different one this time - has murder in his optics, glares at him, leans in close. 

WING SABER

_ Nope. _

MEGAZARAK

_ After we have made an agreement, even you: no more masks. Yet you cannot reveal a name. _

And now they are all riled up. Weapons are being gripped quite tightly.

BRUNT

(Whispering)

_ Nice going, genius. Can't see the exits anymore. _

CLOSE UP:

Megazarak's optics. Red. Narrow. Calculating.

MEGAZARAK

_ You know what to do. _

They do.

JUMP TO:

An overhead view of the Coliseum. Silent.

Until…

BOOM.

Everything just comes leaking out at once. Yelling leaks. With plasma rifles, oversized fists, spears, eccentric Alt. Modes.

ZOOM IN:

We recognize some of these "leaks" poking out through the crowd, if only momentarily. It's like everyone fighting everyone. A pod of mammals jostling through a hole in the ice for air, quickly dragged back under again.

Eventually, Wing Saber breaks free, one or two other flyers on his tail. His pistols burn orange in his hands as he turns onto his back and takes potshots at them. He jumps in the air as a 'BOT-SIZED FIREBALL flips over his shoulder.

WING SABER

_ Slag! _

Now the riot is in the streets. And when a war is in Cybertronian streets, there are no civilians. The battle passes home complex after home complex, and more and more Plutosians decide to throw their weight into it. Angry civilians whip out their old weapons and come out, yelling.

A grey-armored, one-eyed OLD COOT comes running out of his hut, gripping his sniper's bayonet more like a spear than a gun. He sees the Marshal cornered by two from the meeting, charges with a spry ferocity he hasn't felt since losing his Alt. Mode. He stabs a turret walker in the upper knee, taking it down and turning the attention of a wolf in Sharkticon's clothing. The coot fires once, taking out one of the Beast Mode's oversized eyes and eliciting a decent Sharkticons growl.

Kilotron aids by planting his arm cannon firmly in the Sharkticon's face and firing.

OLD COOT

_ Marshal? _

As he greets Kilotron, he sees the walker writhing at his feet, drops the bayonet into its main body.

KILOTRON

_ Busy undercycle, huh? Pass it along: anyone can be an enemy. Lethal force. _

He doesn't stick around long enough to hear the Old Coot say "You got it, Marshal." Kilotron's already running to a new point, pulling out a couple hidden guns and even a combat knife.

The leaves the Old Coot standing there for a moment before stuffing his rifle into the scabbard around his chest. He sees his route, plans his Transformation, even starts to perform the act, grinding gears and all. He cringes at his own forgetfulness, spots a target, hurriedly pulls his rifle back out and stops a charging flailtank dead in its tracks.

Time to spread the word.

FAST SPIN TO:

Wing Saber has found Brunt. The Seeker carries the purple deputy over part of the crowd, both shooting down into the masses.

BRUNT

(Yelling)

_ Seen the big one yet? _

WING SABER

_ Mega-something? Not at all. Optronix? _

BRUNT

(Over rapid gunfire)

_ Noth - nay, I see your man! Body shop! _

He silently thanks the deputy, then angles himself to head there.

BRUNT

_ Uh-oh. Flyers! _

WING SABER

_ Throwing. _

The Deputy doesn't understand. Yet.

BRUNT

_ Wha - AAAAAAAAAAAGHH! _

He's flying - more accurately,  thrown . After the panic quickly subsides, he pulls his other gun and begins unloading plasma into them.

Wing Saber stops above Optronix, who has become trapped just outside the shop's locked doors. Doors which won't last long. He joins his partner in firing outward.

ELSEWHERE:

The Old Coot has passed the word around. In small groups of two to seven, the Plutosians start unleashing their own retired fighting skills.

They begin taking potshots with every weapon imaginable. Some Transform into fighting animals, combat vehicles, or even just turret mounts. The Old Coot’s single eye blinks to the rhythm of the machine-rifle in mount he’s standing behind - until both stop. He recognizes one of the faces in the crowd.

RANDOM PLUTOSIAN

(Nervously, shocked)

_ Nice undercycle, Ratch. _

COOT / RATCH

(Coldly)

_ Seems it is. _

He hesitates no more in opening fire. The Plutosian drops, his entire torso raining on the other Plutosians behind him, “good” and “bad” alike. If it fazes him, we can’t tell. His hands cannot twitch, his face cannot so much as frown.

Streetwise pops up beside him, dragging two LONG CHAINWHIPS behind him. With a THWAPCK, he flicks one at an approaching thug, yelling some battle cry like “Enter the Pit, demons!” He cackles unsettlingly.

STROBE TO:

The shop owner busts out the large window with - what is that, a FLAMETHROWER? It momentarily captures Wing Saber’s eyes. The owner hops out, wearing the huge weapon’s tank on his back, face scrunched and mouth sealed. Optronix yells an order to his partner.

OPTRONIX

_ Merge! _

He turns, nods, and starts his Transformation process. He doesn’t finish. An old-style throwing hammer slams him into the front of the building. Optronix pulls a grenade from his weapon belt, pinches the pin free, hurls it and ducks.

Silent bang. Everything collapses.

Wing Saber comes down, utterly collapsed and beaten. Optronix breaks his fall - unsteady, but neither drops to the ground.

The battle seems to have dispersed. Around them, it’s a bunch of small groups facing off against one another. Optronix helps the Seeker to his feet.

WING SABER

(Weakly)

_ We need to contact somebody. Kilotron, Autobot Command, someone, anyone. _

OPTRONIX

_ Agreed. Seen - _

Almost his entire right side disintegrates. Wing Saber hears the recoil of the weapon only as his partner falls to the ground. He wastes no time in scooping up his partner and trying to Transform, drag him up, out of danger. He fails, drops Optronix's lifeless body a metron or two to the ground. A Plutosian goes to poke at him and Wing Saber doesn't care who, he's just going to - !

KILOTRON

_ Friendly! Friendly! _

Wing Saber touches down, relieved to see a familiar face. He can forget about his own injuries now, at least.

KILOTRON

_ How badly is he hurt - aside from the side he’s missing? _

WING SABER

_ Can’t tell. Any medics in this town? _

Wordlessly, he holds up one finger. Then the Marshal yells.

KILOTRON

_ RATCH! _

The Old Coot comes running. He’s covered in blue-purple bodily fluids and silvery scratches. Wing Saber examines the lack of face and hands, then glances up at the red wings still in place on the Plutosian’s forehead -  medic’s wings . His large blue orb seems to change shades to a softer blue.

He wastes no time in crouching to examine what’s left of Optronix’s body. With the remains of a mangled hand he nudges very gently at the Major’s intact arm.

RATCH

(A little more noticeably modulated)

_ He’s alive. We need medical transport here immediately. _

WING SABER

_ Understood. Marshal, where’s your comm tower? _

KILOTRON

_ Not far, we can make it within a breem. Come on. _

They begin walking, with urgency. Ratch remains at Optronix’s side. He doesn’t have long.

Another Plutosian is stumbling up behind him. His eye darkens considerably. Without turning he pulls the rifle from its scabbard and fires. The Plutosian hobbles a moment longer, then drops. In several pieces. Antique weapons are not user friendly, especially in the realm of power settings. He could’ve done this, any citizen could’ve done it, any  soldier on Cybertron could have done it.

Still, his eye grows in intensity, reflecting on this knowledge. Gradually, the blue orb softens, enveloping the Plutosian medic, and then, slowly, the rest of our view...

GRADUAL FLASH TO:

**EXT. FORGE - ELSEWHERE ON CYBERTRON - PERMANENT UNDERCYCLE**

An arena. High walls. Lit by blazing strobes, constantly in a state of combat-based wreckage. We could say it looks like one gigantic can of exploded soup. The surrounding world is obscured almost entirely in space-blackness. What little we see is black and lumpy, like rock, with the occasional glints of Energon.

SLOW PUSH IN:

We see the rim of this can. There’s a bug on its side - more accurately, a gigantic black bug with pincers and blue-violet stripes. Slowly, our view angles itself to peer like a curious child over Megazarak’s shoulder.

Two Cybertronian combatants - little grey specks to us - dance an ancient, aggressive ritual. The applause, cheers and assorted cheers block out all other sound.

We turn to Megazarak’s face: he’s watching carefully, calculating. Slowly, the grim line of his mouth becomes a smirk. He cradles his cannon under his left arm. The scarlines in his face slowly twist, following the crack of a smile. Red eyes grow narrow, intent. Plutosis was a bust, but he has other plans. Great plans, whose effects will be felt across the entirety of this planet.

MEGAZARAK

_ With any luck, it will Fracture. And what follows... _

He pulls a piece of metal from his belt: a mask. He attaches the thing to his forehead, slides it down over his face, hiding his scars, leaving only his red eyes exposed.

FADE TO:

Black. Silent.

S.O. (text, typing):

_ “To be continued...” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews'd be heavily appreciated, and I hope you're enjoying. Would anyone like the link to a little playlist I've put together, just something for... something?
> 
> Hwyl!


	3. Liquidation, chII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Optronix remains in Sickbay, Wing Saber makes inquiries. Kilotron is left a cryptic clue, a medic shows cruelty, and a criminal fights for his cause...

**Liquidation, Ch II - Truthspeaker**

FADE IN:

**INT. PLUTOSIS SICKBAY - WELL-LIT**

A blank wall. That’s the first thing we see. A blank white wall, in all its sterile, mundane glory. Mundane fear, too. No wall should be that empty, that lifeless, that sickeningly pristine, not when these walls hold such death and damage, even just one unit over. We hear a little scream. Not Optronix's vox.

Wing Saber sits on the waiting bench, blue optics glaring into the wall as if expecting it to move for him. It would do no such thing. But all this sitting isn’t doing him any good. No way it can do anyone any good.

Ratch approaches from his right, stops over him.

RATCH

_ You can enter now. _

The Autobot Seeker nods, makes his entry.

WING SABER

_ Thank you. _

He gets up, hurriedly throws aside a medical tarp and enters the cubicle. Inside, Optronix is stretched out on a sterile silver table. One arm is gone - and with it more than a sizable chunk of his torso, pieces of his leg and head. Wires and medical tubes run in and out of him through an almost-’bot-sized console on the side opposite Wing Saber. Kilotron hovers over the Major patiently.

WING SABER

_ Any news on our rogue faction? _

A shake of a head.

KILOTRON

_ Not a thing. Except… _

Optronix’s eyes have finally opened.

KILOTRON

_ Good. You’re finally awake. _

OPTRONIX

(right to business)

_ We need to find out more about this... Fracture. And Megazarak. Bigger... than we thought. Missing. _

(urgently)

_ Head back to Iakon. Take - ... _

He wants to say “Take Kilotron”. Wing Saber sees the awkward look between his Autobot partner, and the Marshal.

WING SABER

_ What is it? _

Kilotron's arm comes out as if to punch the wall, fist clenched. He doesn't do so. His head is lowered.

Long moment of silence. Optronix slumps back again, this little incursion claiming some of his precious energy.

But he answers the question.

OPTRONIX

(weak)

_ He’s the Marshal. Stays... with his Node. _

Suddenly Wing Saber understands. He must go on this little incursion himself. Alone.

WING SABER

_ Iakon probably has some intel on any part of this. I’ll head there, you... you just get better, alright? _

KILOTRON

_ I’ll stay with him, best I can. Promise. _

Wing Saber nods, promptly leaves. He has work to do.

Ratch follows closely behind, curious.

RATCH

_ Leaving already, flyer? _

WING SABER

(not stopping)

_ Keep your optic on the Major. I should be back soon. _

He enters the doorway, gets a small running start before Transforming, flying upward into the cavelike ceiling, and beyond…

**EXT. CYBERTRONIAN WILDERNESS - PERMANENT DUSK**

The multicolored Seeker flies over the barren surface of Cybertron between polities. It’s barren, not even the Sharkticons live here. Wild cracks in the ground capable of fitting whole cities between them; the whole world is the yellow-rust of DEATH. It may zoom beneath him, but it is all the same.

Overhead, the rust has become the color of the clouds, which stretch like an evil embrace around this whole world. A few stars poke through the grimy air, but not many. In a way, many Cybertronians believe they are forever trapped here, that the sky beyond those clouds simply  _ cannot _ be real!

ANECDOTE: There  _ is _ some life in this land. Somewhere below Wing Saber, a little TURBOWOLF limps across the dead, flat ground. She’s been starved for cycles, at least one leg is broken, bent out of place. The Seeker passes overhead, like an Angel of the Zodiac! Dim eyes suddenly spark with hope, some rescue must come for her! But alas, the thing overhead simply passes by without ever seeing her. She hangs her head, last flecks of hope gone, ready to die.

Wing Saber’s engines - and the cold Devastator winds - these are all that we can hear. They’re like the voices of two victims screaming out in pain from different sides of the same battlefield.

He travels the rest of the way to Iakon. Eventually, two red-clad armored flyers slip into formation on either side of him.

AUTOBOT FLYER

(over comms)

_ Designation, mission. _

WING SABER

(comms)

_ Wing Saber, Duon Gamma Major, intelligence gathering. _

AUTOBOT FLYER

_ Clear for entry into Iakon, Major. Will escort to aboveground docking station. _

The last little bit of the trip has them doing exactly that. Up ahead, jutting from the ruin like one of many silvery claws, is the aboveground zone of IAKON: the Autobot fortress. It only grows larger as they approach it - we see swooping spires like thin metal ribbons; a long spike several kilometers high, glittering with multicolored flares of light like a little tower of stars.

But not without even darker aspects of it: far below us but by no means near the ground, golden walls half a kilometer high, scuffed to ashy oblivion by countless battles - Squids, Sharkticons, even a few crazed Cybertronians. They’re almost as thick as they are tall, and form a perfect ring around the whole base.

We watch the three-man flyer group slowly move closer; our point of reference is fixed. It seems to swallow them, absorb them into its own improbably massive being. They’re being cleared entry for the underground zone.

IAKON TOWER OPERATOR

(O.S, over comms)

_ Autobot Major, cleared for entry to Iakon underzone. Enter aerotunnel Epsilon-Epta. _

A circular lid meant for something far larger than one regular-sized Seeker blows open, and he flies through.

Inside, he’s going down some monster’s throat - perhaps literally, if some of the rumors about large Cybertronian structures were true. Green, blue and purple lights shoot in sequence down the long winding tube, guiding him down, deeper into the grand complex around him.

In time, the tunnel glows a translucent red, then fully transparent.

**EXT. IAKON UNDERZONE - WELL-LIT CAVE**

Outside (sort of), we see the city below, burrowed into a cave like so many other Cybertronian polities. Flyers, various-sized flags of the AUTOBOT PARAMILITARY, towers jutting from the cave ceiling and floor, his little tube crawling and weaving between stalactite structures. Several others empty into his before splitting into several more roads leading to somewhere.

Guidelights point him to Autobot High Command, the massive hourglass complex stretching down from the ceiling to the ground and beyond in both directions.

He emerges from the tunnel in front of the complex, descends towards the bottom entrance, Transforms.

CLOSE UP: he gazes up at the titanic structure. It looks a little like some grand Alt. Mode for some Titan he cannot possibly imagine, its life forgotten long before he was a Spark. It's been a while since he last even saw it, even longer since he'd entered.

Slowly, a little apprehensive, he walks into the belly of the beast. We watch, outsiders, and he disappears inside...

SHIFT TO:

**INT. PLUTOSIS SICKBAY - WELL-LIT**

Kilotron’s kept his promise: he’s sitting by Optronix’s bed when his helmet comms go on the fritz. Buzzing, a flashing red light, the whole nine kliks.

Optronix, remains of his bad arm now sealed inside a silvery, roughly limb-shaped chamber, sits up.

OPTRONIX

_ Call? _

KILOTRON

_ I have to go. Stay here. _

OPTRONIX

_ What is it? _

KILOTRON

(dry, appreciating the irony)

_ Stay. Here. I gotta go. _

With that, he walks out of the sickbay cubicle, into the corridor, out the rotting, oil-stained door into the Node Plutosis.

The streets are empty, most inhabitants ordered back into their homes for their own safety. No repairs necessary (according to martial law), no real enemy to sink into old habits against, just isolation.

We see the Marshal decide the alternative is worse. For now, what Plutosians remain are safe.

TRACKING - KILOTRON:

We follow Kilotron as he moves through the empty streets, not sure what he’s looking for. Patrolling, yes, but for what? And why? After surviving what they had, the threat was gone. He kind of guesses the Autobots did their job. But now one was having his arm rebuilt and the other had been sent back home to investigate something else.

CRASH.

Somewhere off to his left, out of our vision. We stay behind him as he turns to investigate.

His footsteps thud softly against the ground, and he knows he’s a bit closer to the source because we hear it again, only much louder - and therefore much closer.

We’re now somewhere between two silverstone huts, some Cybertronian alley complete with a large energy wastebin and vandal in question.

Except it’s not even a vandal at all. It’s a diminutive Cybertronian. A Transformer. And a Plutosian. Mostly black armor (noticeable dirty, mud-caked, stained in places by raw Energon), little silver frame-bits poking out. Odd-shaped head and shoulder antennae.

The Marshal keeps watching a little longer, and sees the small vandal seize, a wave of purple-blue sparks rippling in waves across her body.

_ She _ . Some of the physical markers make sense now. Slightly smaller build than average, head markings, all of it. A rare anomaly among Cybertronians, given its own identity. But not impossible to see in places.

Then he sees the broken shards. Embedded in her body and the ground around her. The hut she is propping her back up against is deserted, but some defense countermeasure has been left there. Like a shard cannon.

He approaches slowly, deliberately, with caution.

KILOTRON

_ I’m the Marshal. Are you… okay? _

No reply. It takes several moments for her to even look up.

Her optics are an equally puzzling color: green. She takes a moment to speak.

VANDAL

(dejectedly)

_ Howdy, Marshal. _

And nothing else. Kilotron takes another step closer. Two.

KILOTRON

_ You need medical attention. I can take you back to Sickbay. _

No reply. The vandal only chuckles a little.

VANDAL

_ But don’t leave your post, right? Abandon your duties, let it all go and move on. And the war - what war? Don’t you mean life? _

It’s a bit off-putting. In two sentences she slices into his Spark with the most nonchalant, innocent voice manageable.

VANDAL (cont’d)

_ It’s all lies, Marshal. Deception on their tongues. Destruction. _

KILOTRON

_ I don’t know who you’ve been talking to… _

VANDAL

_ And I’m not telling you. _

Movement of her optics and hands tell him it’s time to go. She’d said her piece, and left him in the right state of pondering. And pain, that’s another chunk of what he feels. Pain can be carried, like energy through a conductor.

He walks away. Intuition tells him there will be no more threats to Plutosis, not for many cycles. But that doesn’t mean he can’t remain out on patrol. Some of the greatest dangers aren’t enemies at all.

And as he does, his cannon-arm tenses and loosens rapidly, hands clasping in and out of fists fast as the observant optic can follow. He won’t abandon his post, not again. Can’t. Not for some poison-tongued fembot, not a conspiracy in which he cannot see his part, not a friend he protects even now through his work.

He won’t let them down again.

DISSOLVE TO:

**INT. IAKON HIGH COMMAND CENTER - INFILTRATION DIVISION**

It’s taken a curious amount of time - and more checkpoints than he can think about, but he’s reached his destination: the Infiltrator Dealer’s homebase. He’s not sure what he expects, but not a small meeting room with a sparse number of monitors and coordinators in desk-consoles along all four walls. In the center, a small meeting table meant for a handful of these people at most has been molded in the shape of an Autobot insignia. How very modest, the Seeker finds himself thinking.

COMMANDER PUNCH

_ Enjoying the decorations, Seeker? _

Remembering what disciplines he can, he snaps to attention. He hears the Commander chuckling smoothly, with modulation enough to suggest incredible oral distortive abilities. The Autobots mostly blue and yellow, little hints of red here and there, visor, short antennae and a somehow formal-looking scowl on an open mouth.

COMMANDER PUNCH

_ No need for that rigidity here. That’s soldier stuff, we’re a spy unit. _

Wing Saber senses there’s something he’s going to add to that. Bad news.

PUNCH

_ So when we heard you were inquiring about an Infiltrator, I knew you’d be pretty sorely disappointed. Please, walk with me. _

One Cybertronian habit evolved for survival is the desire to keep moving. In soldiers, in cautious self-proclaimed “diplomats”, even in spies whose job it is to watch and wait… and run.

Punch leads Wing Saber out the room, down a hall. The ceiling goes up a bit. Stray gears and spikes, devoid of whatever function they held for centuries now, jut down from that ceiling like corpses in chains. It’s not meant to make him uncomfortable, but it does all the same.

PUNCH

_ Closest thing we have to regulation is a rule: as little in or out as possible. If an Infiltrator can slip back to deliver a message themselves, they do so. Dealer got this out: a breakaway faction with agents in every polity on the planet. _

WING SABER

_ The Fracture. _

PUNCH

_ Didn’t find out any names, not any that he gave. Even as an agent, the mech was unpredictable. _

WING SABER

_ Anything else? _

PUNCH

_ Your suspected cult leader: Megazarak. No name, but rumor has it he saw some stuff during the Revolution, even before then, possibly as a gladiator for the Squids. _

The scars. That’s what it is. He keeps listening, keeps walking.

WING SABER

_ Do go on. _

PUNCH

_ That’s it. Be careful. All my agents, for one, have made this their immediate priority. Plenty more I simply can’t tell you. _

That’s the end of the talk. Wing Saber gets a little feeling that this spy is doing his job: putting on a face. He doesn’t want some dumb flyboy hanging around his people any longer than he has to.

Still, all of this just only makes some sense to the Seeker. Any answers would have to come later, that’s just the way it was. He didn’t like it, but it’d be more than enough to follow what trails he could.

We see him silently part ways with Punch at a hallway intersection - clever little tactic, the walking was - and he heads off on his own. No more questions, just following this new trail. Which was nothing. But he’d find a way. For his partner. For all of them.

CROSSFADE - CONTINUOUS:

**EXT. IAKON TRANSPORT**

A couple large transports stand in waiting, hovering in place, metal planks bridging the gap which passengers can walk across to reach their destinations. All of this is piecemeal, Wing Saber realizes. He certainly knew there was so much the Squids would not let them access, leaving them dependent on their masters’ scraps, but it was not quite apparent. Now he looks around, sees the mismatched plating, maintenance ‘bots with welding torches and cabled scaffolding - and thrown-down boards preventing Autobots from falling to probable death on the jagged rocks below.

He doesn’t have the slightest clue where he’s going next, but if his partner just kept on being in bad shape, he should have enough time to find something more out, at least. And hopefully find more sincerely helpful people than that spy.

Through his pilot’s faceplate, he grins. He’ll get his own chance to be a spy.

An Autobot travel conductor calls out some polity name he doesn’t quite catch, probably modulated as badly as Punch’s voxbox.

That’s where he decides he’s going. He approaches that area of the docks, sees only a few Auotobots boarding. Most of them are the black-blue-white of some unit whose name Wing Saber can’t remember. They do, however, have wings and crosses on their insignias. Something tells him he’ll need to remember that.

The conductor sees him. It’s a slightly larger fellow with a blocky blue helmet and a pair of freely-spinning wheels on either forearm. Clearly meant to muscle down any suspicious characters, like a very confused-seeming lone Seeker.

CONDUCTOR

_ Passage with these fine mechs, then? _

WING SABER

_ Yes. Well… no. But I’m headed where they’re headed. _

This answer, it seems, is good enough for him. He opens one hand, wheels still spinning in opposite directions, inviting Wing Saber to step inside the dropship. He nods to the mech, and does so.

A few kliks later, the orange four-winged ship pulls up its plank, slowly descending downward before heavy thrusters kick in. A little upward SWOOP and they’re headed for the Anchorless Node…

**INT. PLUTOSIS SICKBAY**

Optronix lays exactly where we’ve left him, metal cocoon reassembling his shattered left arm through gnarly processes he doesn’t think much about. Smelting random alloys, molding them and cooling around the original frame based on a scan of his other arm, that was how it’s done these days. He doesn’t mutter to break the silence, doesn’t reminisce about painful things, moan for his distant partner, just sits there and lets this strange machine do its work.

The machine turns off, leaving behind a silence he didn’t realize had been filled by the quiet hum of machinery. If he recalls correctly, now comes the really hard part.

Ratch walks in, throwing aside the little tarp marking his cubicle. A single eye devoid of emotion gazes intently at him. Could be intending to offline him and smelt him for transplant parts, could just want to take his vitals. An Empurata is a terrifyingly ambiguous thing to behold.

The faceless one speaks.

RATCH

_ Time for phase two. _

He approaches the reconstruction console, drill prosthetic in hand, and begins disassembling the apparatus. Optronix also sees the spools of wire dangling from a tool belt, along with several extra appendages. He works silently.

OPTRONIX

_ How badly’d you slag off the Squids? _

Again, that face-consuming blue orb faces him with that cold… whatever it was under there. Then, with an aged sigh, the mangled medic spins his tale, drill softly whirring in the background.

ANECDOTE: Each piece of the apparatus as it is taken apart. Several layers of metallic barrier coming off in plates around the arm, severing an external power cable, pocketing several screws into a belt pouch.

RATCH

_ Ah, ‘twere a while back, probably afore you were forged. I was a medic for their fighting bits. The Forges, those were called in the age. A bot has something to prove to a Squid, like how fast he can get torn apart, he heads there. And I piece ‘em back together, time and time again, until finally they’re extinguished for good. One time too many, I also gave ‘em pointers, how to knock their opponent down. I seen ‘em all fight for a while, you understand. _

ANECDOTE: Now we see the arm, good as new minus a few scuffs, metallic imperfections and a grungey look. Two or three loose wires still pop out of his arm like needles. The medic puts away his torch and replaces both hands: a pincer arm and a cutter. But before he begins this next step, he looks into the fellow Cybertronian’s optics, somehow reaching a little deeper.

RATCH (cont’d)

_ Take me back in between matches with a pair of Sharks, all five faces laughing in a way you’d never have known about. Oh, I kicked and hollered all I could, up ‘till my voxbox came out. They took my optics out, taking a lot of my face with. Pulled my hands out, wires and all. The fire rushing into my wrists is something I hope to never feel again. _

Beat.

RATCH (cont’d)

_ Hooked me up this here pretty-looking thing  _ (taps face) _ , sent me right back out there, med-belt just like this’n still tied around my waist. Mech flew to bits a klik into the match, and soon all them Squids was laughing like the one took my face. _

Good, cheery story.

RATCH

_ You’ll LOVE this part.  _ (makes snipping gesture with cutter arm)

The Major nods for him to begin. Without another word he tightens the pliers around the cable running into his elbow, jerks outward hard enough for Optronix to grunt a little, cleanly snips of the spent end where it’d touched the inner frame. Sanitation and all that. The length which remains in the Autobot’s arm will become something like nerve endings, once they begin aligning the limb with its owner and make final touches.

He repeats the process, dropping the snipped ends of the cables into yet another pouch on his belt and placing the rest of each length back into their resting places alongside the rest of the discarded apparatus. They would be used again as material for new limbs, new contraptions. Little goes to waste on Cybertron, that much the Squids had made sure of.

RATCH

_ Try moving it best you can, same with your good arm. I’ll be back to check on your progress. _

He pulls back the tarp and leaves the cubicle.

For a moment, Optronix just sits there. Then, slowly, begins trying to flex his fingers. Nothing. Flexes the fingers on his right arm. Something, but he’s got to do it on his other arm as well. The one that, only a few cycles ago, had been whole, and then reduced to metal vapor. With any luck he’ll be back with Wing Saber in no time.

Outside his cubicle, the amputee medic Ratch examines the damage to other Plutosians. Including one or two of what he’d been told were called “the Fracture”. Three or four cubicles over, an orange-and-purple mech with new wheels for legs writhed in sadness against the wall railing, arms trembling. He’s Ratch’s next patient, and he’s got murder on his mind.

RATCH

_ How’s the pain? _

WHEEL-LEGGED FRACTURE

_ You slimy Squid-lover, you took my LEGS! _

With newfound strength he launches himself at the medic, who promptly throws him to the ground, gripping one of his new legs by the spokes. Does a little twist, letting the patient get acquainted with his new mode of transport. Letting him know that it’s a limb now, and he’ll feel its pain as his own. He groans, twists on the hard floor. All the while, Ratch’s faceless orb observes, almost calmly. Inside he can be boiling with rage for those he’s lost, damages done to he and others, and none of it would reflect on the outside.

RATCH

_ You’re a prisoner. Not only that, but your “activities” in the Node? The missing people? The rituals, the dead-undercycle demonstrations? _

Between muted screams of pain, the legless Fracture spits his truth.

WHEEL-LEGGED FRACTURE

_ Don’t… know… what you’re… talking about! _

The medic releases his grip. He’s done enough.

RATCH

_ And? _

WHEEL-LEGGED FRACTURE

(little sobs of pain and confusion)

_ We didn’t do rituals. We just met for… discussions. Talks, that’s all it was! That undercycle was supposed to be our first ceremony, I swear on my spared limbs! _

So the dead they’d recovered, supposedly, had not been the Fracture’s doing. Already, Ratch puts a little more stock in the Duon’s case, about whatever they were after. Not just this faction, but what went on beyond their little Node.

If he takes back his little outburst, what then? Instead, he simply hoists his patient back up onto his wheels, steadies him as his hand reaches back to the wall railing.

RATCH

_ Focus on maintaining constant movement. Balance comes after. Until we can get you some proper rebuilding equipment, at least. You’ll want to rescan, too. Something with treads, maybe. _

The legless Transformer doesn’t know how to reply. Nor does the medic know what the chances are of this Fracture returning to his friends once he recovers. And until that cycle comes it’s not a priority. He has more patients to attend to.

SLOW FADE OUT:

Brief blackness. Silence. Some noise coming from the background, like machinery, or something with a pulse.

Slow crescendo. It keeps building, until we recognize...

Music. Throbbing, pounding music. Heavy, syncopated drums; some play a steady beat while others shift meter constantly, changing to match their stage in the fight. Noisy stringed instruments slide up and down chords in unpredictable, aggressive patterns. Distorted vox-synths sing their ancient chant: XESOI XESOI XESOI XESOI! “Kill, kill, kill, kill.”

**INT. ARENA - THE FORGE - HEAVY LIGHT**

Floodlights strobe endlessly over the long cylindrical column of their coliseum. Hundreds of metrons above us, we see a flyer - a Seeker - dangling by the leg from a chain. Spectators on all sides stretch from what we can assume is ground level to the ceiling; we see neither the top nor the bottom, only the combatants in between.

The Seeker’s other leg has been torn off, both dorsal wings are bent beyond any hope of use. The chants only grow as he sways back and forth, in circles, moaning for the final blows to finally be dealt. The crowd only keeps chanting in imperfect time, now resorting to throwing things: chain-grenades, discarded pieces of vehicles and armor plating, even a head from a previous fight.

MEGAZARAK is perched against a little ledge, his own chain in hand. He’s masked. His cannon rests under one arm. He looks out, hears the Sigma-knows-how-many in the stands eager for blood. This is not the war he imagined, but it is the war that must be fought. A spotlight settles on him and he knows this fight must continue.

Dozens more chains dangle around the maimed Seeker. All that’s left is to give a good swing, grab a hold of something and empty his cartridge into his enemy.

SPECTATORS

_ XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! SHI’IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA! XESOI! XESOI! XESOI! SHI’IQA XESOI DEUN MEGAZARAQA! _

It’s time. He grips the chain wrapped around his left arm, pushes off from his ledge. Swings out.

He doesn’t hear a single amplified voice shout a new command:

“SHAKE THE CHAINS.”

Without warning, his chain drops, lowering Megazarak a few more metrons away from his target. He starts unwinding it from around his other arm, preparing to leap to another (oscillating up and down randomly), when suddenly he is yanked upward by a good twelve metrons. The Seeker’s chain drops now, pulling him away from his would-be killer. This is a test, no doubt about it. And something to rile up the crowd. If possible, they’ll want him to make it look easy, should any others try their hand in this arena in the future.

Everything’s unstable now. If he loses his grip, and his timing’s off by a microsecond, he’ll likely not recover before the big splat. He steels himself, fully uncoils the chain on his arm, swings himself to another, sliding down along a length equal to his height before his grip tightens. He starts pulling himself up, climbing with all fours. He estimates the Seeker to be maybe five chains away, along a length about six times his height.

He formulates a plan, ruby-red optics never moving, even through his mask, from his target. Even as his chain pulls him up and down his gaze remains there. And above…

Climbs upward, enough that he remains constantly above the Seeker. The strobe of heavy lights from all angles reflects off the mechs, the chains, forming a constantly-moving omnidirectional spotlight on the Fracture leader.

Now he must act quickly. His plan is still a plan, but he’s not given much room for error.

He gathers his momentum, getting the oscillating chain swinging back and forth in the direction of the Seeker below - now at eye level - now a lethal fall below him!

Yelling a little, he releases his grip with both hands, leaping outward, two chains slapping him in the arm and shoulder but letting him pass to another length beyond them. The Seeker is two chains away.

As his current handhold reaches maximum height he leaps out again, catching the chain between them and shifting his weight to keep himself propelling forward: to the final chain. Maybe ten metrons above where his enemy dangles. Here comes his next momentary respite.

The chants break quickly into a silver-black din of cheers, the resumes with the drums reaching a fortissimo. With a free right arm he pats the cannon at his side, willing it to move like any other servomotor in his body.

He loosens his grip on the chain, letting himself ride downward until he is certain he will land on top of the hanging Seeker.

Then lets go completely.

With all his force he catches the flyer, sending both hurtling, severing him from the leg that held him in place.

All we see is a tangle of falling frames.

A single cannon blast. An explosion. The Five Chugs as the fighter Transforms on his way down. The silent firing of hover-treads. A cannon blast aimed at the ground. All the debris throws off the lights, rendering the hover-tank inside invisible. Everything keeps falling, gathering speed, to heights which surely would kill a non-propelled Cybertronian Alt. Mode. No one wants to think about how far down the arena goes. Acrophobia is a rare trait amongst Cybertronians, but certain places forged exceptions.

Not the prettiest landing, but after a moment of silence the shrapnel clears, and the spotlight settles on a levitating hunk of silvery metal with a turret attached.

A Transformation back to Robot Mode. Megazarak touches the ground, walks along the stony floor to retrieve what remains of the Seeker’s head. Brushing off some of the dirt and grime from an earlier stage in the match, he holds the trophy up. Cheers from the crowd, a new chant:

SPECTATORS

_ VICTORIO DEUN MEGAZARAQA! VICTORIO! VICTORIO! VICTORIO DEUN MEGAZARAQA! _

All up along the tunnel of this tall coliseum, pillars, shield-barriers and bleachers line the world in spiraling rings, climbing ever upward to the invisible ceiling.

Now the match is over. The drums stop. The vox-synths stop. Frozen in time as the victor gives his final remarks. If they so desire, they can issue a challenge to a future warrior.

He does so, removing his mask as he’s gathered is their custom. He wonders how much cooperation will cost, considering how much they have in common. At least on the surface.

MEGAZARAK

_ Where is your mech in charge? _

(beat)

_ I want to speak with him. _

Silence. No one answers. He waits for one, throwing the head aside, its purpose gone now except reclamation. On no side does anything go to waste.

But the silence is left unoccupied.

Megazarak concludes that he will not see this MASTER. Not today, not anytime soon.

He will simply see more challenges.

A distant CRASH.

MASTER

(over loudspeaker, echoing off infinite surfaces, swallowing all other sound)

_ Prove yourself, then. _

A new voice: some presenter with a worse case of Singing Vox than Megazarak has ever heard before. Calm, smooth, deadly cold.

SINGING VOX

_ Second challenge. Defending combatant: Megazarak. New offender: _

(beat)

_ SHARKTICONS. _

Oh, the crowd goes wild over that. This new enemy comes from the ground. The music starts up again; Megazarak realizes it’s a different “song” this time. The drums carry a different tune, the voxes of the crowd chant with a different tone. That’s when he realizes that there’s likely someone whose sole job is to start a chant for each match. Somehow that lightens the moment just a little. When he’s overrun, it’ll be campy. It’ll even have its own sound as he’s ripped to shreds.

SPECTATORS

_ SHAROQ! SHAROQ! SHAROQ VE MEGAZARAQA! SHAROQ! SHAROQ! _

MEGAZARAK

_ Very well, then... _

He readies his cannon. The pincers on his helmet seem to tighten a little. He secures his mask back in place.

To his right, a door he didn’t realize existed suddenly lifts. Several pairs of hungry eyes stare back at him. He can hear their growls from here.

If another battle is what it takes, that’s what it takes. As one version of the saying goes, “War? Don’t you mean life?”

JUMP TO:

Black. We hear their stomps as they emerge.

S.O. (text, typing)

_ Continued... _

(translated:)

_ Iqine... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Song of the day: "Reptile" by Nine Inch Nails)
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Liquidation, chIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recovering Optronix follows his partner's trail to a floating city, where vague answers and more violence await.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's jam(s): "The Wretched" by Nine Inch Nails. Or really anything Nails.  
> "Lockdown" by Steve Jablonski  
> "Apollo" by Tony Levin
> 
> Enjoy! : )

**Liquidation, Ch III - Truthspeaker**

Comms static.

OPEN ON:

**EXT. OUTSIDE NODE PLUTOSIS SICKBAY - OVERCYCLE**

Optronix emerges from the dull grey building, his bad arm now almost back to full function, but still marked by a more rusty red color than the rest of his body. He rubs it briefly with his right, then hears the noise in his helmet.

The Marshal Kilotron emerges behind him. Here to see him off. Up ahead, an Autobot dropship has come to help him leave this grand place. Twin wing foils fold above the gold-orange box’s roof, and the plank comes down. Meanwhile, the Major answers his comm.

OPTRONIX

_ Optronix, go ahead. _

DISPATCHER

(Over comms)

_ Optronix, Dispatcher. Routing to Sergeant Kup. _

(clicking as lines are changed)

KUP

_ Hear you were nearly disintegrated. Hope you’re better now, because… your partner. _

OPTRONIX

_ What about him? _

Behind him, Kilotron starts to take a step closer. But that’s a violation of sorts. He takes a step back, waits until his friend is off the comms.

KUP

(over comms)

_ He’s in - _

Outside the Autobot’s helmet, Kilotron sees Optronix nod several times. Then he concludes by repeating what he assumes to be a list of Autobot-coded coordinates, or some insider thing like that. Not meant for him. Then the line cuts, and Optronix turns to begin making his final remarks.

OPTRONIX

_ Stay out of trouble, Marshal. _

KILOTRON

(chuckling)

_ You too. Major. _

They conclude with a secret handshake and a salute. Soldiers always need to know who’s who. And such tiny gestures become reminders - who someone was, who they will always be.

That is a Cybertronian goodbye between comrades.

Optronix has to go fetch Wing Saber so they, too, can decide on a secret handshake. He jogs lightly towards the dropship, leaps onto the plank and pulls it up behind himself. A sliding door is pulled shut - almost shut, jamming in the “almost-shut” position before a good tug seems to convince it.

POV: Kilotron. He sees the thing lift off, and another friend leaves him. But no matter what, he will stay. Our field of vision closes as the Marshal squints.

FOCUS ON: His face. Subtly, it twists into something of sadness. Missing someone. Missing great multitudes. Knowing they won’t come back, but that squint to his optics becomes mournful, afraid to look into the light.

That’s the last of Node Plutosis in this story for a while.

**INT. DROPSHIP CARGO BAY - WELL-LIT**

This particular dropship is grimy, dirty on the inside. Not well-maintained, as evidenced by the stubborn door. Optronix reaches for a guardrail as the ship pulls up sharply, probably louder inside the cabin than outside. As the world becomes fluid his head is rocked on his neck servos, turning sharply to see the broad-winged SCANNING TEMPLATE strapped down just across from him on the other side of the room. The Major gets a little more nervous just looking at it. Already his grip on the handrail is breaking in new servos in the remolded arm.

DROPSHIP PILOT

(from the cockpit)

_ So, where’s High Command sending you, soldier? _

OPTRONIX

_ The Node in the Sky. Aeronexus. _

DROPSHIP PILOT

_ Well, good thing that template’s there. Wouldn’t want to be the idiot caught outside the Stable Zone without wings. _

Optronix chuckles. He’s a hovertruck, yes, but hover-vehicles don’t fly. That’s for flying things. Like his partner. And for a winged Duon with some of his partner’s natural... dispositions.

The dropship lurches again, and one of the template’s straps makes a SNAPPING noise.

OPTRONIX

_ No. No, I would not. _

DROPSHIP PILOT

_ We’ll be flattening out soon. Hang on until - _

(another major lurch)

_...We get there. _

The pilot gives a little snort of the vox. Optronix wonders if Wing Saber couldn’t have put him up to this, somehow. When they see each other he’ll have to ask.

EXTERNAL SHOT: their ship breaks surface, wing foils unfurled, rapidly moving away from the little smokestack-like fang emerging a decent distance from the Cybertronian soil. The dirty clouds clog the view of space, trapping the planet-locked vehicle under layers of air and toxin. Only toxic to Cybertronians.

Optronix doesn’t rescan often, but every soldier does it multiple times in their career. Sometimes it’s physically painful, sometimes no more than a momentary jolt as every molecule in the body rearranges itself. He rotates his left shoulder, bends his elbow, flexes his fingers. Now or never, he supposes.

He squats next to the blank-grey flying vehicle. A blue light flashes from his optics, traces every inch of the vehicle with laser-precision. Still squatting, he moves around it to the other side. A bit ugly and misshapen, but symmetrical. Smashed-in nose, but he hoped that wouldn’t translate. A small lurch, but he can resume gathering data. Slightly curled wings. External fuel modules, he wasn’t equipped with those. But Cybertronians make do, and so he processes, internalizes the data. Then returns to his original position. And waits for the unpleasant part to come.

FORWARD TO:

**EXT. “NODE” AERONEXUS - CLOUDY - VAGUELY STARLIT**

Aeronexus. A semi-perfect amalgam of every “floating city” imaginable. Shaped a bit like an inverted top-hat, with heavy thrusters taking up most of the city’s bulk, surface stretched beyond thin by urban use, almost like overflowing froth from a cup. Filthy exhaust pipes expel multicolored fumes on all sides. If one squints, they may see the several thin cables keeping this place from drifting. Tethered to some great landform below that might’ve once had a name.

The Autobot dropship shrinks as it approaches. We see the vague outlines of streets, patrolling Seekers in uniform white and blue, labor flyers from haulers to elaborate performers. Two flyers - probable forge-twins - perform concentric ailerons around the dropper as it pulls itself close. But uniforms seem to scare them off long enough to fasten lines to the ship’s hull and reel it in.

CLOSE ON: the plank drops. Below it, who-knows-how-far to fall before burning up. Or hitting the ground, less likely.

Optronix doesn’t look much different when he disembarks, if any. The temporary bridge wobbles a little under his feet.

DROPSHIP PILOT

_ Hey! You lose that, you catch it. _

Were it to go with him still on it, he wouldn’t have much choice. But he makes it across safely, and that’s when he looks up.

A Marshal is waiting for him, marked by the dirty off-white armor and arm-mounted cannon. Although, to Optronix’s eyes, it looks like a nosecone with a scary grille. COSMITRON, the Sergeant had said.

The pilot leaps carefree over the plank, pulls it free behind him, goes about his business. Optronix doesn’t know how anyone does their business here, but that mech must put a lot of faith in his ship’s safety.

The wind here is enough to induce a permanent sense of unease, even as the Major approaches the Marshal. As he does, he crosses over several sets of THICK COLORED LINES: outermost red, yellow, inner green.

COSMITRON

(noticing discomfort)

_ You’ll get used to it. Cosmitron. “The hungry fox cries empty.” _

OPTRONIX

_ “Still, nothing down its pipe.” Optronix, Duon Gamma Major. I’m here for my partner, I was told he’s here. _

COSMITRON

_ Y’see… that’s where our problem lies. _

That’s how to get Optronix’s attention. But he’s busy trying to get his internal gyros to realize he’s not flying - the whole world is. He doubles over, nearly taking two smaller mechs in safety stripes with him.

COSMITRON

_ Like I said, you’ll… _

The Major gags. The turmoil’s reaching his vox.

COSMITRON

(clashing combination of sympathy and mild apathy)

_ Soon, maybe? Any klik now would be nice. Some… have it worse than others. _

They’ll move soon. Even if he has to drag this Autobot there himself. But with another moment, he’s up. And to Cosmitron, that’s the signal to go.

Both are already walking, trying to brush past civilians of all colors, not one of them without what he assumes is a required Alt. Mode. Every polity has its perks, and its rules. Fine by him, as long as he gets to leave.

Vendors selling things the Major hardly thinks about. More skyfaring performers, Cybertronians just hoping to get on with their days. Most are built slim, tall and pointy, with the occasional gangly kibble-bit of a booster engine or even a full set of wings. A handful wide-built he can pick out of a crowd, most marked in what he realizes is uniform stripes, likely a local company. Heavy freight teams mentioned before. He’s never seen buildings set up this way, either: tightly packed, often stacked three or four high. Alt. Modes and flight packs, ladders and guide railing everywhere, and almost always with someone climbing about in some odd position. Crates and cylinders are carried by groups over the crowd’s heads, lost to his peripheral vision.

He has to shout to the Marshal. The mass thins out enough that we can see him holding his hands protectively over his holsters. He doesn’t see any other pistols out here, probably some rule or environmental factor making them useless. He hasn’t heard anything, but knows they won’t be his first combat measure.

OPTRONIX

(impatient, yelling, vox distorting at high volume)

_ So where’s Wing Saber!? _

The Marshal points with his cannon arm, never stopping but simply turning a sharp corner. Optronix nearly loses him, strains his vision and follows. It’s around a corner, what he assumes to be a “block” (cube, more like), and he finds the white uniform again with ease. Probably why it’s that way. Cosmitron even raises his hand, curls his fingers in a gesture the Major takes to mean “you’ll find out, just follow me”.

Smoke wafts over him, and he realizes he’s walked into a yellow-green cloud. Hopefully nothing dangerous, should be fine. Right?

He keeps following this Marshal. Around another corner. He sees them approaching the lone structure without stacked storeys - where would they go from the high-domed roof; how would spiderwebbed outer columns support them?

The crowd’s thinning. The bustle of machinery and unthinkable masses settles into the cheers of a crowd getting a good show.

He doesn’t realize Cosmitron’s stopped beside him until he puts his cannon-arm over his chest to stop him. Nor does he realize that there’s what appears to be a BOUNCER at some kind of decorative tarp marking the entrance. A big, space-black mech with small wingfins running along his arms. Tank treads visible on his legs. Red rings on the forearms, diagonal stripe on the torso. Unsympathetic blue optics. Was this…!?

OPTRONIX

_ That’s - ! _

COSMITRON

_ Yes, a registered Autobot. You’ll need to keep quick in Aeronexus. We sometimes hire big ones for security, it’s fine with High Command. _

OPTRONIX

_ Since when? _

BOUNCER

(exactly the kind of voice you’d expect)

_ Since I came here. _

He flashes a glance to Cosmitron, who nods in reply. The Bouncer steps aside, letting them push away the tarps and become fully immersed in the inside scenery.

**INT. AERONEXIAN ARENA - WIDE, LOUD, FESTIVE, VIOLENT**

Rings of seats and tables around a submerged pit. Cheering mechs of all sizes and colors. Sweet-oil kiosks, wager stands and fast-walking collectors, all of it built to serve those seeking a show. A single overhead light throws fiery tints on the - 

Combatants!

COSMITRON

(pointing)

_ There’s your partner, Major. _

CLOSE UP: He’s right. Wing Saber’s being kicked around by a yellow-and-purple mech easily twice his size, swinging a big hook arm. He’s slammed against a wall-shield and rolls to the floor.

This can’t be right. None of this. Sport fighting, both sides of that concept irritate him. He leans over, taps a standgoer on the shoulder, points with indication to ask what’s going on.

STADNGOER

_ This guy comes in here asking ‘bout some faction-or-so, Impactor here says he’ll one-on-one for info. At least, that’s what mech brought me here said. _

OPTRONIX

_ Sport-fighting's illegal. _

STANDGOER

_ This is Aeronexus, anything can happen. _

He looks back to his white-clad guide, who simply shrugs in agreement. Optronix’s optics narrow with intent to accuse. But he has bigger problems. That’s his partner being thrown about out there.

This “Impactor” sure brings an impact. He hooks Wing Saber under the shoulder plate, throws him spinning along the wall-shielding. Optronix jumps down several rows of chairs, lets out a vox-twisting yell.

OPTRONIX

_ STOP THE FIGHT! _

Both combatants pause, look up. He sees an unmistakable grin come across Wing Saber’s slightly-smashed-in face.

He climbs over two spectators, down over the guardrail atop the shields. Impactor shoots him a hostile glance.

IMPACTOR

_ One on one, stranger. _

OPTRONIX

_ I’ll deal with you later, don’t worry. _

He helps hoist Wing Saber up, whispers to his receptor:

OPTRONIX

_ We’ve gotta get out of here. _

WING SABER

_ I know. Really had him, he wouldn’t shut up there for a while. Listen, I have a plan. _

OPTRONIX

_ My turn to know. What else’d you mean? _

The Seeker leans heavily against a cracked shield-plate, resting his hands on his legs. Optronix shoots Impactor a hand gesture: one moment, then we’ll settle this.

WING SABER

_ Ready. _

He comes up. A wannabe commentator shouts in the old Squid tongue:

WANNABE COMMENTATOR

_ Risulte! Xesoi! Xesoi! Xesoi! _

He doesn’t get a chant going, but the fight is about to be underway. Optronix unclips his pistols, throws them back over the wall to gather with Wing Saber’s. Cosmitron moves into place alongside the mech the flyer had asked to watch his stuff.

“One-on-one.”

Optronix and Wing Saber merge. The Duon’s optics blacken for a moment, re-emerge as yellow, slicing through the red-orange lighting overhead. The crowd falls silent, then returns, louder than before.

The Duon lets Impactor make the first move, charging. They do not move until he is within hitting distance, then - !

DISENGAGE.

They seem to part, like he’s punching water.

MERGE behind his back, land an elbow against his back before he has time to turn. Two as one, the Duon slide back, ducking and slamming a fist into Impactor’s abdomen. He recoils a little from the force of it, recovers more quickly than before, throws his hook and manages to catch a new spot around the Duon’s sternum. Pulls them toward him hard that something under there comes loose, lands a blow to the jaw.

DISENGAGE.

TRANSFORM.

Wing Saber flies first, managing to swoop over Impactor’s shoulder and catch a hook to the wing. He goes down, but Optronix emerges and knocks out Impactor’s knee.

MERGE.

The Duon Combines behind his back again as he goes down, this time leaping over his head. With the bladed end of his hook gripped in one fist. They pull it like a leash, twisting him and landing a blow to the torso around the shoulder joint. Release the hook as he’s about to get back up again, throw downward into his skull. He falls. And the crowd wants to call it a quick victory.

Impactor hesitates too long in getting up. No reasonable soldier will let him gain that chance, and he knows it, even before the Duon Gamma plant their foot against his head in victory.

DISENGAGE.

They don’t celebrate, don’t revel. To one of them, this was a necessary challenge. To the other it’s somewhere between an insult and major inconvenience. Wing Saber picks up the sternum-piece that the hook knocked loose. That’s going to need major repair.

WING SABER

_ How’s the arm? _

OPTRONIX

_ Fine. You ask the questions. _

The Seeker nods, then plants his foot against the now facing-up Impactor’s chest. Optronix stands off to the side, letting him know they can knock him right back down.

WING SABER

_ So what do you know about Megazarak? Or the Fracuture, hmm? _

IMPACTOR

_ Next to nothing. _

WING SABER

_ “Next to?” _

IMPACTOR

_ Only who he is. _

Not enough. The optics say it all: “go on.”

IMPACTOR

_ I’ve met him through bouts. He’s becoming a champion. _

WING SABER

_ Where? _

The crane mech’s wide arms come open in what is likely a shrug. Almost smug if not grave. But there’s something else, too...

IMPACTOR

_ “First rule of underground fights.” Wherever the war’s left someone, it’s there. But a vox always stays mute. _

Now the power comes back to him, even if he’s down on the ground. A grin spreads across a metal mouth.

IMPACTOR

(louder)

_ All I do is say His word. _

(receptor antennae everywhere prick up)

_ And it’s the truth. _

Beat. Every mech in the arena is frozen. Silent. Cosmitron’s not necessarily fazed, but he needs a little time to adjust. He looks around, sees he’s not the only one surprised. But none of them break the stillness.

Even the world outside is lost for a moment, suspended in nothingness.

Cosmitron looks around, counting the optics. And examining the attitude in them. Something malevolent. Righteous. Unified.

Optronix was right. So far, they’re two for two.

Cosmitron thinks he’s made the first move when he reaches for the Duon’s guns. Wrong. It’s the mech at one of the betting stands suddenly Transforming.

The Marshal catches that, throws the pistols to their owners, promptly Transforms himself. He’s a long-nosed flyer with thrown-back wings, and his exhaust stirs up loose dirt in the arena as he prepares to make a quick escape.

He never makes it. Another spectator at a table continues the trend, and all at once it’s an explosion of total chaos. Yells. No gunfire, but chairs and tables make for good melee weapons. A table, for example, comes smashing down on the Marshal’s hull and he’s stopped before he can reach speed. His engines go quiet.

The Autobots catch their pistols. Smirking just that much more, he leaps up to his feet as two Aeonexian patrons leap into the ring with them. They don’t hold them steady and hope to stop this, they just begin firing. Wing Saber knocks one back as Impactor approaches - or rather, his hook. It catches around his shoulder and he’s thrown to the ground.

Cosmitron struggles to his feet, half-Transformed, only finishing the process once he’s upright and has already punched someone to the floor. His head emerges between his wings and they fold back behind him. He raises his cannon arm and fires.

BLAMM!

It’s somewhere between a focused explosion and a rocket’s engines propelling it to space. And it clears a path through a gang three-deep and ready for violence. He Transforms again, and this time there’s nothing stopping him from getting out and seeing what’s happening to his polity.

We follow him. It’s started a chain reaction, or else was simultaneous. Neither matters, because these whatever-they-are have been activated. He flies over them, running air through his vents, cooling his systems enough for another cannon blast. With his jet’s eye he sees that things are starting to get crowded. Close-quarters combat across an already packed city.

But there’s a mass that catches him. Charging as a whole unit. That’s where he fires. It’s enough to blow him back, and he spreads folded-back wings. Dives down into the disoriented mass already being overtaken by white-and-blue deputies. Transforms, finishes the rest of the drop on two legs. Smoke funnels through his arm.

One, marked by a splash of red on his torso and grating on his blocky helmet, steps close to his boss. He’s a Deputy Seeker.

THUNDERWHIP

_ What is this? _

COSMITRON

_ Same thing that happened at Plutosis, I think. Shut down all business, get everyone to safespots. No one outside the green zone. Pass it along to your team. _

Then he Transforms, and is off to search for other areas. Our perspective stays behind, with Thunderwhip.

THUNDERWHIP

_ No one outside the green zone, everything closes. We break off into our trios, make sure everything’s in order. Rotate through this sector at random. Loudboxes on. _

Everyone in the group gathers, twists their necks to activate their loudboxes. And then their patrol lights. Each trio has their own blinking rhythm.

Five mechs approach, all of them holding clublike weapons. One of them is what appears to be a shock baton.

THUNDERWHIP

_ Go. _

They don’t quite scatter before the quintet make their move. Five’s an unholy number to Thunderwhip, and he Transforms, ramming into three of them, Transforming and performing some kind of punch-kick combo as he touches down.

And is slammed down by a swift kick to the back. It doesn’t come from one of the thugs being dispatched by the flyers under his command, at least not those that don’t  _ look like the flyers under his command. _

TRAITOR DEPUTY

_ Nothing personal. _

THUNDERWHIP

(whispering)

_ Says you. _

For the moment, it’s a tight spot. And an unexpected one. He picks up the shock baton, beats the fallen Deputy once across the back of the neck, then swings it at another - one with the same blinker rhythm to his patrol light. He’s not expecting it, raises his arms in defense and is beaten to the ground.

A bulky hauler-mech goes zooming over their heads, thrown by a coworker. The traitor doesn’t count on taking a whole heavy frame to the face, and he goes down.

The rest of the flyers know their jobs and simply scatter.

**EXT. OUTSIDE THE ARENA - CONTINUOUS**

The Duon Gamma emerge, limping, from under the dome - which is now starting to show some of the wear they’ve put on it. Loose pieces flap around on their torso, one leg, parts of both arms, their combined form’s helmet.

More just seem to be coming. One by one, loudboxes have begun dictating orders, overlapping one another into one big cacophonous whine.

LOUDBOXES

(variations on the same theme)

_ Attention, Aeronexus. This is not a drill. Head to designated safezones, use deadly force to protect yourselves. No one authorized outside the green zone. This is for your protection. _

No need to remind any Cybertronian how to protect themselves, even Aeronexians. And once again, as both are thinking now, it’s playing out more or less like Plutosis. But now they’re a floating city instead of an underground Node level.

A big one comes at them, most likely a heavy hauler. It Transforms, flies at them, but they’re airborne too, and slam the carrier to the ground, prompting a Transformation and offlining him for now with a swift kick to the face.

A MISSILE-like object comes zooming, hitting the Duon. Both separate on impact, start running without recombining. Gunfire going out in all directions, rapid enough that plasma-trails start forming blooms around them as they run.

A lot of people just running. Not fighting, just running. Little brawls breaking out, fueled by recognition or simple paranoia. They keep their guns raised as they run alongside one another.

Impactor emerges from behind a canned Energon stand, leaping to the counter and charging, Transforming into some kind of crane truck. It slams into Wing Saber from the side before he has time to notice, taking down maybe three other Aeronexians in the process. Optronix is a bit faster, shooting through the main windshield, leaving the vehicle blind. A crane arm swings out, catching some poor citizen in the optic. He yells out, and Wing Saber gets to his feet, slamming his arms into the servo, lifting and firing twice into the joint. There’s a small explosion of gears and cabling inside, and Impactor tries to Transform. He, Wing Saber, Optronix and several others are trampled by incoming - !

A shipping crate mows through the crowd, sending up sparks and screaming metal, more noise and pain than any loudbox.

FOCUS ON: the zone lines. The crate, not caring what it knocks over, pushes Optronix just outside the green zone.

A Deputy flies overhead. Alone. Transforms in midair, hovers by leg thrusters.

The large crate breaks the railing just outside the red zone. As it stands, Optronix stands inside the yellow. Much as he hates heights, he’s a bit worried about the Fracture sparking violence in this city. Impactor is sprawled on the green line, raises his head to see Optronix reaching for his pistol - which rests just by the mech’s arm. He grins, hurriedly grabs the weapon and tosses it past the yellow, past the red, past the edge of Aeronexus entirely.

Wing Saber rushes ahead, but diverts to take cover behind a wall when the Deputy begins shooting everywhere. Not friendly. He emerges long enough to take a shot, nicking one of the enemy’s leg-jets.

Impactor tries to Transform, to throw his hook, do anything, but he’s probably sustained more damage than he initially realized.

Optronix crawls forward, realizing for the first time now that there’s a slant to the ground. He’s climbing. Impactor grins, then starts climbing himself. In the opposite direction. Some idiotic Autobot Seeker he could take down easily. But not this other.

With all his anger he takes his victory. Optronix has no way to go but backwards or sideways, and neither of those is a viable option. Impactor just keeps crawling towards him, leaving a trail of internal fluids and armor scraps in his wake.

IMPACTOR

(crazed)

_ I’m coming for you! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! _

Optronix decides sideways is a better way to go. To his left - Impactor’s right - he crawls along the subtly-sloping silver surface, hoping to move a bit upward as he does, get back inside the green zone. That, and away from this crazy gladiator. But dying things experience a little burst of energy, and so Impactor moves with the speed of a wild animal, slamming his body into the Major’s, angled just so that Optronix is offlined. One of the first places of contact is the head.

Then, using his last reserves of that primal energy, pushes both from the platform of the floating city. From there they will fall through the clouds, be carried away by various wind currents to their final resting places on the ground. Depending on how hard they hit, the number of final landing sites goes up.

But from there, that’s a long way down. Long way to go.

SLOW FADE TO:

Black.

The wind howls.

S.O.:

_ Iqine... _


End file.
